


Cornerstone

by sariane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Marauders' Era, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-14
Updated: 2012-05-14
Packaged: 2017-11-05 08:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/404313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sariane/pseuds/sariane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus goes to Hogwarts for the very first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cornerstone

The early Monday morning sun makes its way over the distant trees. Remus looks up from the dew sprinkled flowers of his mother’s garden to watch it rise, and sighs when the golden light finally hits him. He props himself up, onto his side. The moon is still hanging like a tarnished sickle in the sky, barely noticeable among the light blues and gentle pinks. It’s waxing as his health is waning, and he dreads the full moon more than anything right now – even more than the disappointment he knows he’ll soon see in his parents’ eyes.

He had heard their whispers, late one night when he couldn’t sleep for the bright moonlight rushing through his curtains. He stared at the bluish shadows, the pure white light that made a strange pattern through the lace on the opposite wall. It looked like dots, dots that danced against the wallpaper when the summer breeze blew through the window and moved the curtains. Their whispers carried well that night, down the hall and through the gap in his door. He had curled up on his side, pressed his knees to his chest and fought the urge to get out of bed and run.

He won’t be going to Hogwarts this year, or ever, even though he is eleven. Even though he is a wizard. His parents are still wondering when to tell him.

Remus extends a finger towards a flower, almost to touch it, and watches the dew drops lift from the red petals and levitate in the air. He points and concentrates, just to prove, just to say, _I am magic_. The next thought arrives unbidden, _but I’m a werewolf_ , and just like that, the droplets fall.

He rolls onto his back, staring into the summer sky, thinking, _it’s not fair, it’s not my fault_ , and suddenly, as if summoned by his thoughts alone, a speck appears in the northern sky. He sits up suddenly, staring at it, squinting as it nears…

_It’s an owl._

His mother is in her flower shop, his father probably at work. He doesn’t run to get them. He waits with trepidation and tries not to shake.

The owl lands next to him. Remus has never received an owl before. It holds out his leg expectantly.

With trembling hands, he unties the letter. At sight of the Hogwarts seal, his heart sinks. He doesn’t want to hear his parents’ apologies, their promises. He doesn’t want his father to occasionally pause in their morning lessons and say, “I’m sorry I can’t teach you all you could learn at Hogwarts,” while his mother bites her nails and teaches him arithmetic and grammar in the late afternoons. He doesn’t want to see their return owl fly into the blue skies, bearing a letter with the words, “sorry,” ”regret,” and “decline,” carrying his dreams along with it.

He hides the letter in the crack between his wall and his floorboards.

*

The third day, he receives two owls. One is tawny, and snaps at his fingers, the other is spotted and simply stares at him with large, bewildering eyes. These letters he takes into the woods and stuffs inside a tree hollow. He is like Boo Radley, he thinks later in his room, and stuffs his knuckles into his mouth to stop himself from laughing hysterically from inexplicable giddy glee.

The fourth day, an owl taps on his window right as the sun breaks over the woods. Another meets him in the garden. Another is on the fence post on his way into the town. He hides them all underneath a stepping stone in their elderly neighbor’s overgrown garden.

The fifth day, his parents wake him up early in the morning in their dressing gowns. His mother is holding a milk bottle; a letter neatly rolled up and stuffed inside.

“Why have you been hiding them from us?” his father asks. Remus never understands how his father reads people so well.

“I thought they’d go away,” he replies, picking guiltily at his threadbare teddy bear. He’s too old for it, but he doesn’t care. He has never thought he’d ever have to go away to school and break the habit.

“Remus,” his mother sits gently beside him on his bed, one hand stroking the old, threadbare quilts and another ruffling his short, light brown hair. “Running away from something doesn’t make it go away.”

He feels the pain well up in his throat, and feels like he’s about to cry. His father holds out the letter.

“ _You_ should open it,” he says with a strange smile in his eyes.

*

Albus Dumbledore is the nicest old man that Remus has ever met. He has kind, blue eyes (although, at one point, Remus could have sworn they saw right through him to the scuffed wooden chair back) and a strange, long beard. He patiently explains to the Lupins the measures that will be taken: the tree, the tunnel, and the house.

He makes Remus solemnly promise to try his hardest at school and keep his marks high, and then leaves with a wink.

When the door closes, his parents look to him with slightly flabbergasted smiles. He himself can’t believe it. Late that night, he takes the very first letter he’d hidden in the crack between his wall and floorboards and keeps it under his pillow, just in case the owl comes back for it.

*

The train ride is lonely. Remus waves goodbye from a door on the side of the train, until they turn the bend and his parents recede from sight. The cramped corridors are empty now, everyone in a compartment with their friends. He finds a deserted bathroom and changes and worries that all the compartments have been filled while he has shied away.

Luckily, he finds a nearly empty compartment occupied only by a dejected looking second year reading a book. He barely even glances at Remus, for which he is somewhat thankful. The boy’s tie is striped red and gold, and Remus wonders what a Gryffindor is doing alone. As he pulls out his book he thinks again. It’s the Hufflepuffs that have the friends, he remembers, and feels slightly sorry for the boy.

Remus reads for the entirety of the trip, only looking up to buy a chocolate frog from the trolley lady, as his father instructed him with a wink and a few knuts. He eats the wiggling sweet and accidentally smudges page 107. The frog is almost as good as the book.

Before he knows it, it is dark outside and the train begins to slow as they approach Hogsmeade station. Remus stows his book away, watches the other boy do the same, and gathers his things.

“What’s your name?” the other boy asks suddenly, breaking the silence they had built so carefully.

“Remus Lupin,” he says faintly, and then wishes he had cleared his throat first.

“I’m Frank Longbottom,” the boy says. “You have great taste in books.”

“Thanks,” he says so quietly that Frank probably doesn’t hear him. But Frank leaves a moment later, anyways, just as the train stops. Remus gives up hope of ever making friends.

*

When Hogwarts looms above him, its bright windows and stone towers staring down at him in contrast to the dark skies, he still can’t believe any of it. The castle, the grounds, the lake. Just as his father had described them to him. He squints into the darkness to try to make out the newest addition to the grounds, the Willow tree, but everything other than the bright castle lights is bathed in shadow. Remus stares at the spectacle, caught up in how impossibly beautiful it all is.

The other two boys in his boat seem to be more concerned with nearly tipping them into the lake.

“You there, sit down!” Hagrid, the largest person Remus has ever seen, booms across the lake. He is not the caretaker his father described, but, as Remus understands it, he is fairly new to the job, and to disciplining eleven year old boys.

Snickering, the tallest boy in the boat sits down. Remus finally takes his eyes off the castle to look at him properly. He has black hair down to his shoulders and a way of tilting his chin upwards that makes him seem even taller. He catches Remus staring and holds out a hand. The boy next to him, with untidy black hair and glasses, lets out a titter.

“Sirius Black,” the boy announces with such expectation that Remus wonders if he’s expecting to be knighted anytime soon. He takes the offered hand hesitantly. His grip is firm, sure, and fleeting; the other boy takes his hand barley a moment after Sirius has taken his away.

“James Potter,” he says, louder than Sirius. They steal glances at each other when they think no one will notice, he observes.

“Remus Lupin,” he says softly, but they seem not to hear him over their excited questions.

“What house are you hoping for?” James asks eagerly.

“Potter here is hoping for _Gryffindor_ ,” Sirius adds in a half-sneering voice. Then, he smiles.

“Er, Ravenclaw,” he replies honestly. “Where-“

“Hufflepuff,” he grins. “My blessed mother would _love_ that.” James joins him in uproarious laughter, and Remus wonders what’s so funny. At least Hufflepuffs have loyal friends.

“There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff," a small voice pipes up from the back of the boat. The boys look to the small boy with mild surprise. James lets loose a little laugh. "I mean, courage and power can be alright, but what about hard work and loyalty? You can't be friends with books, and you can't gain strength without a little hard work." This shuts James up for a moment, and he narrows his eyes at the boy. Remus admires his nerve.

"Hear that, Potter? Perhaps there's something to be said of prospective Hufflepuffs." Sirius laughs cruelly, however, but the boy doesn't understand that it’s a joke at his expense and giggles a little. Carefully, as not to rock the boat, Remus slides past the bickering Black and Potter to sit beside the boy.

"I'm Remus," he says, smiling, although it's nearly invisible in the darkness.

"Peter," the boy squeaks back.

The boat stops at the shore and they get out, talking a little amongst their selves. When James falls in the water, Sirius laughs along with him and claps a hand on Remus' shoulder. He's startled by the friendly contact, and accidentally runs sideways into another boy.

"Sorr-" he says, looking around, but the dark-haired boy begins to hurry away. A girl pushes past him and joins the group of gathering first years.

"Honestly, _boys_ ," he hears as she pushes past. He's shoved into the nervous crowd of students as everyone rushes to catch up and follow Hagrid into the entry hall, where they are introduced to Professor McGonagall. Whenever Sirius or James leans down once or twice to whisper something in his ear, he wonders…has he made _friends_? Already?

The Sorting is slow and painful. While the concept of a talking hat is amazing, the thought of it inside his head is terrifying. What if it announces his “affliction” to the entire hall? What if it tells him he can’t go to Hogwarts?

Oblivious of his anxiety, Sirius mutters in his ear snide little comments about their peers: _his_ father works at the Goblin Liason Office, _her_ mother married a Muggle drunkard, _his_ parents are both Squibs and everyone thinks he’s illegitimate. He wonders how Sirius knows all of this gossip, but he’s too afraid to ask, and Professor McGonagall eyes them all severely.

Sirius leaves his side all too soon, right behind a timid girl who is sorted into Ravenclaw. He mourns the loss of Sirius at his side, but he's replaced by a chatty James Potter, who seems to be the only other  first year not to be paralyzed by fear.

"His whole family's in Slytherin," James whispers to Remus as the hat falls onto Sirius' head. _He’s arguing with the hat_ , Remus thinks as he watches Sirius makes a face filled with righteous anger, and then tries to stifle his laughter behind his hand. He never thought that sentence would cross his mind. James thinks Remus is laughing at his joke and smiles widely at him. Just as Remus wonders what he’s gotten himself into, the hat shouts out:  
“GRYFFINDOR!”

There is no applause, not at first, because the entirety of the Great Hall seems to be in shock. A tall and intimidating Slytherin girl stands up and begins to shout loudly, but she is quickly shushed by McGonagall.

“Well, his mother _will_ be upset now,” James says under his breath. They watch Sirius gather his vast dignity and walk to the Gryffindor table. They begin to applaud just as he sits down, and Remus finds himself pitying the boy.

“Still hoping for Gryffindor?” he prompts James as they watch the next sorting.

“Of course,” James grins (he seems to be unable to act less than enthusiastic about anything). “You’re still set on Ravenclaw?”

At this point, Remus does not care which house he is in, as long as he is in one. Eight minutes later, he walks with wobbly legs and borrowed confidence from James Potter to the stool, sits down, and tries not to shake as Professor McGonagall sets the Sorting Hat upon his head with a small, encouraging smile.

“Ah, you’re the Lupin boy,” the hat says quietly. “What potential we have here…If it is not crushed, I might say.” _Should he answer? Or should he just sit and let it make its decision in peace?_ “You’re a thinker, I see, questioning the rules of the sorting. Ravenclaw, perhaps? I can hear everything you think.” _Oh, god_ , Remus thinks, and tries very hard not to think of anything at all. It doesn’t work.

“Hufflepuff would do well to receive your dedication,” the hat whispers. “Of course, you have a dark side, as you well know. Slytherin would find you some good friends.”

 _No_ , he thinks, remembering the tall girl who had yelled at Sirius, _not there,_ that _isn’t really a part of_ me _._

“Very well,” the hat sighs, “you aren’t the first to argue that, and you won’t be the last.” He takes a very deep breath, wondering what Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff would be like, when the hat yells:

“GRYFFINDOR!”

The cheering for him is immediate, and his heart soars up into his chest. No one has ever cheered for him before. Whipping the hat off his head and setting it back onto the stool, Remus stumbles to the Gryffindor table and sits next to Sirius. The boy beams at him and he returns the smile, looking over at the crowd to see James giving the two of them an enthusiastic thumbs up.

“I hope you don’t snore,” Sirius says as the table quiets down and the next student steps up to the stool.

*

An hour later, Remus walks through the door to the first year boys’ dormitory behind Sirius Black and James Potter. Peter Pettigrew hesitates at the doorway behind him, unsure if he belongs. Remus isn’t quite certain that he belongs in Gryffindor, either, but he’s always liked the color red.

The room is bigger than he had imagined, with four-poster beds, two windows, and a brilliant view of the Forbidden Forest. He is pleased to see the pile of trunks in the middle. Three owls hoot at him; a tawny, a barn owl, and a dark brown one whose species he can’t name. He makes a mental note to look it up and then deflates a little when he realizes he’s the only one without a pet. They aren’t particularly fond of him.

“There are five beds,” Peter says quietly behind him. “Aren’t there supposed to be five of us?”

Remus counts the beds and boys quickly, again.

“There are six Slytherins this year,” Sirius says. “I hope the dormitories are large enough for all of them. Thank Merlin I’m not crammed in there with the rest of them.” James hesitates, sizing up Siriu before snorting at the Slytherins’ misfortune, and sits down on the bed to the far left, one side to the wall, the other next to another four-poster bed.

Remus looks around the room to the pile of luggage and spots his trunk, battered and faded, the clasps ready to fall off. He moves towards it, pushing a handsome black trunk out of the way. It has shiny silver clasps that will never fall off, no doubt.

Peter reaches for his trunk as well, small and light brown, new. He waits beside Remus as they hold their breath, waiting for Sirius Black to choose a bunk. Neither wants to be the one to take _his_ chosen bed.

To their relief, he takes the one right next to James fairly quickly, grabbing his black trunk from the pile to pour its contents out onto his bed. Peter darts quickly to the bed one away from Sirius, muttering about the nice view of the window.

Remus stands in the middle of the room, aware that everyone is staring at him. There are two beds: one between Sirius and Peter, and the other to the far side of Peter, closest to the door on the far right. He feels his heart pound in his chest… _if I choose the one on the far right, they’ll think I dislike_ Sirius…

He wishes he would have picked the one on the edge first, like James, but he hadn’t, and he has to choose now, quickly, before they think he’s stupid…

“I may be a Black, but I don’t bite,” Sirius says, his laughter a quick, barking noise that makes him jump a little. Remus manages a smile and James guffaws at them all. Even Peter admits a nervous chuckle. Remus steps forward and sets his trunk up on the bed between Sirius and Peter, stomach clenched tight from fear. “You don’t bite, either, do you?” Sirius asks, and Remus would laugh and say no, but Sirius’ eyes have alighted on the scars on his neck and he wishes it wasn’t suspicious to wear a turtleneck in September.

“Not if you stay on my good side,” he manages, and they all laugh awkwardly again.

“Well get along fine, I think,” James says, and Remus hopes his ability to judge people is much better than his own. “You’re a little shy,” he says, looking at Remus and then to Peter, “you’re quiet, and you’re a Black...”

“Well, _you’re_ a blood traitor,” Sirius replies half-heartedly, and Peter titters slightly. Remus doesn’t say anything about blood. He doesn’t want to think about ever having _that_ conversation with this crowd of Purebloods.

James frowns slightly and leans back on his bed, staring out the window at the starry sky, the dusk long faded into the black night. Remus follows his gaze and finds his eyes drawn to the bright, waxing moon.

“I hope it’ll be okay,” Peter says faintly. “We have a long seven years ahead of us.”

“It’ll be an adventure,” Sirius says hopefully. “The best years of our lives. Once mum stops sending me howlers,” he adds in an undertone. Remus wonders what a howler is.

James glances at Sirius and bounds forward to retrieve his trunk. Before Remus knows what’s happening, he’s pulled out four bottles of something.

“Butterbeer?” Peter asks. “Isn’t that--?”

“It’s not that strong,” James says, handing them each a bottle. The bottle is cool in Remus’ hand, the liquid brown and unfamiliar. They pass around a bottle opener, the room quiet except for the sound of popping caps and their breathing. Remus makes an effort not to touch anyone’s fingers. He rolls the cap around in his hand and waits for Peter to pass the opener back to James, who holds his opened bottle up. They clink their bottles together unsurely.

“Cheers,” James says, and takes a swig. Remus hesitates, then takes a sip from his bottle. The butterbeer is room temperature, but in his mouth it tastes unusually warm and sweet, like spices and butterscotch. It fizzes in his stomach. He stares at the bottle and tries to read the raised lettering on the glass.

“I should owl my parents,” Peter says softly, looking at his butterbeer like it’s about to explode in his hand. Remus wonders how strict his parents are. “They’ll be pleased, I think.” Sirius makes an indiscernible noise.

“I think they’ll wait until morning,” James says, then pauses. “Are you glad you’re in Gryffindor?” James asks, and it takes Remus a moment to realize that they’re all looking at him this time, probably because he’s so quiet. He isn’t used to the attention, and looks away timidly.

“Um, yes,” he says hastily. “Mostly surprised. But I think I’ll like it here.”

“Seven years,” Sirius says, taking a swig of his butterbeer. “How will we survive?”

Remus smiles and, for once, isn’t that worried about his future. He has friends, real friends, who tell jokes and share butterbeer and haven’t confronted him (yet) for turning into a hairy, homicidal monster once a month. Maybe his time at Hogwarts _will_ be some of the best years of his life. He considers his roommates; James, with his bravado and openness, Sirius, filled with stormy (and frankly frightening) unpredictability, and Peter, shy and meek.

He sees their future in a flash of premonition: late nights and laughter, lounging by the common room fire, passing notes in class, taking walks around the lake, sneaking food from the kitchens, uncovering secret passageways, exploring the grounds and the castle and discovering everything and more. There is so much to do and see, and he can’t believe he has the chance to see it all with them.

Remus smiles and look up from his bottle of butterbeer at his three new friends. “We’ll manage.”


End file.
